Father Gary, our priest over at the Newman University Church in Dublin, gave a homily the other day for the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe where he introduced me to a phrase that I have never heard of before, but one that I have not been able to stop thinking about since.
He told us the story of Mary appearing to Juan Diego, an Aztec convert to Christianity, and requesting to him that he builds a shrine for her on the spot where she appeared, known as Tepeyac Hill. The bishop, however, refused to build a shrine without proof of a sign from Mary herself. Only four days later, Mary reappeared to Juan Diego ordering him to collect roses – an odd and difficult request considering it was a snowy December in Mexico City. Juan Diego did collect the roses, though, and when meeting with the bishop once more he allowed all of the roses to fall onto the floor. After doing so, an imprinted image of Mary could be seen on the inside of his cloak, providing the bishop with the sign he requested.
While this entire story is incredible and beautiful and an absolutely wonderful reason to celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the phrase that stuck with me the most was “a rose in December.” After further meditation and thinking about the phrase, it left me with three questions.
- What would I do if Mary came to me asking me to find a rose in December?
Have you ever played bumper cars? Imagine if instead of having other cars and obstacles in your path it was just you driving around a 30-foot circle in the middle of a carnival. It wouldn’t be as fun, would it? The beauty in games like that are the roadblocks and the difficulties – just like life. I’d like to think that was part of the intention of Mary’s request to Juan Diego. In order to feel the fullness of God’s power, and to allow Mary’s goodness to reach as many people as possible, there needed to be that obstacle. So, what would I have done if Mary asked me for a rose in December? Well I at least hope that I would look for that rose. And I hope that when I struggle to find one I don’t give up. Maybe I’d ask people who know more about flowers than I do to help. Maybe I’d go traveling to a warmer climate where roses could still grow. Or maybe I’d just run over to Dunnes and pick some up (they have everything at Dunnes, right?).
- What if I can’t find a rose in December?
If all of these options fail, and I am lost, alone, and unable to do what is needed of me, how would I respond? I think it’s only fair and realistic to admit that I would be sad and disappointed. Maybe even a bit angry that I was tasked with something so improbable to happen. Nobody wants to fail, especially when someone that you admire and look up to so much is looking for your help and assistance. But sometimes, life doesn’t work out. Sometimes you find yourself on a snowy mountain, with no grass in sight, let alone a rose. But Juan Diego didn’t give up. He searched for and found all the roses that he could carry. Whenever life requires a rose from me, no matter what time of the year, I would hope that I would try as hard as I can, but if and when I occasionally fail, I would hope that I know that is okay too. And that Mary will still be present and watching Juan Diego whether he was able to find the roses or not.
- How will I act when I do find a rose in December?
What if Mary never appears to me asking for a rose? What if I have no idea about the need for any roses, or the fact that Mary is asking for assistance? Or what if I am ever in the position of the bishop, questioning others trying to only do good?
A few weeks ago, I was going for a walk around Dublin when I came across this tree next to the sidewalk. Unlike a slew of other trees that I passed along the way, this one stood out to me – mainly because the leaves were hanging low so I had to duck to get under it. As I was bent over and was walking past it, something bright, beautiful, and red caught my eye. Somehow, in the middle of this tree, a vine with one singular rose was growing. At the time, I didn’t know what it meant. To be completely honest, I still don’t really. Maybe it was Mother Mary watching over me, or a sign showing me I was going in the right direction. Or maybe it was just a fortunate bit of the beauty of the world. Regardless, I know that from here on out I will always be on the search for a rose come every December. I hope you will be too.
